Wherever you are — on the road, or opening your door — you’re stepping into a moment of eternal meaning. Move through it with awareness

S

ummer is a season of motion. Across the frum world, people are constantly on the go — heading upstate or to the country, traveling for simchahs, shuttling between cities, airports, and family homes. The rhythm of daily life changes. We sleep in unfamiliar beds. We daven in borrowed minyanim. We eat at tables that are not our own.

We know that nothing is a coincidence. If summer is a time of travel, there must be spiritual depth and significance behind it. The summer months are not only a time for vacations and getaways — they are also the time we focus on galus. The months of Tammuz and Av are steeped in the sorrow of churban, destruction, and loss. They mark the beginning of our long exile, a journey that has shaped the course of Jewish history.

And this is no coincidence. There is a striking Divine orchestration in the flow of the Jewish calendar. The very time of year when we remember our nation’s displacement is also when many of us are, quite literally, on the move — away from our homes, our routines, and the stability of everyday life.

This profound symmetry — between the rhythms of summer and the messages of galus — gives us a unique opportunity to deepen our avodah, and to transform displacement into spiritual movement.

In earlier generations, great tzaddikim would voluntarily leave their homes and enter galus. The Vilna Gaon. The Baal Shem Tov. Rav Moshe Cordevero. These spiritual giants undertook journeys not because they had to, but because they chose to. They intentionally wandered — away from home, talmidim, and comfort. Why?

On a simple level, they sought to deepen their bitachon. In unfamiliar surroundings, stripped of status and security, one comes to rely on Hashem in a purer way.

But the Ramak, in Tomer Devorah (Chapter 9), offers another layer. As the Zohar teaches, since the Churban, the Shechinah is in galus. And when a person willingly enters dislocation — leaving behind control and comfort — he becomes a merkavah, a chariot for the Shechinah. He travels not just physically, but spiritually — with Hashem. And he starts to carry himself with a quiet, unmistakable G-dliness.

Today, we don’t take on galus formally. But Pele Yoetz notes that even modern travel — whether for business, simchahs, or vacation — can carry the same imprint. The lost luggage. The delays. The three nights in an Airbnb with broken AC. These aren’t just travel headaches. They’re forms of galus.

And when we experience them, we have a choice: To groan in frustration… or to remember that we’re not just in transit — we’re traveling in galus together with the Shechinah. And suddenly, the whole experience shifts. We start to appreciate the opportunity.

A Detour with a Destination

Two chassidim of the Baal Shem Tov once invested great effort in traveling to spend the Yamim Noraim with their rebbe. But delays and detours left them stuck in a tiny town, davening alone on Rosh Hashanah, hearts heavy with disappointment.

After Yom Tov, they reached the Baal Shem Tov and asked: “Why did Hashem do this to us? Why were we sent so far off course?”

The Baal Shem Tov replied: “In that town, holy sparks were waiting to be elevated. Hashem needed your shofar and tefillah in that exact place. That’s where you were meant to be.”

It’s a story for every rental cottage, airport terminal, and unfamiliar guestroom. We’re not displaced — we’re dispatched. And we can make the journey meaningful.

So this summer, whether you’re between places or settling in as a guest, whether you’re missing home or routine, remember: You’re not alone. You are walking with the Shechinah. And wherever your journey takes you, kedushah is waiting to be found.

And for those enjoying vacation, lounging by the water and wondering, “Is this message really for me? I’m not exactly feeling galus right now” — the answer is yes, even you. Because the moment you step out of your home zone, you’ve entered a subtle form of galus. You’re away, unanchored from your routine. And in that space, Hashem attaches Himself to you. Which means that vacation isn’t just a break — it’s a journey with meaning. It’s a responsibility, and it’s an opportunity.

The Other Side of the Journey

And there’s another side to summer traveling.

Because for every traveler, there’s someone opening a door. For every guest, there’s a host who welcomes him in. And if the guest carries the Shechinah on his shoulders — as the Zohar teaches — then the host becomes the one who brings the Shechinah inside.

And this opens up to us something very profound: the unique power of hachnassas orchim.

It turns out that it’s not just an act of kindness. It’s not just good manners. It’s a spiritual gateway to a supernatural dimension of life. Let’s attempt to explain.

The Zohar (quoted in Degel Machaneh Ephraim, “Shamati,” and Imrei Pinchas 7:146) explains that the physical world is structured around the number seven — seven days, seven spiritual forces, seven layers of reality. This is the realm of teva, the natural order.

But there is another dimension — the number eight. That’s the world beyond. A world of miracles, kedushah, and closeness to Hashem.

Most mitzvos operate within the framework of seven. But hachnassas orchim is different. It touches the eighth. Why?

Because a guest is someone in transition, someone away from home, from comfort, from stability. And as we learned, the Shechinah rests especially on such people. After the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash, Hashem became a Guest in His own world. The Shechinah is in galus.

So when you open your door to a guest, you’re doing more than offering a bed or a meal. You are welcoming the Divine Presence into your home.

And when the Shechinah enters, you’ve created a space where the boundaries of nature can bend. Where the miraculous becomes possible.

The Journey of the Three Weeks

And this explains why, time and again, Tanach shows us that acts of hachnassas orchim open the gates to the miraculous. That welcoming a guest isn’t only about kindness; it’s an invitation for the Shechinah to enter — and with it, the possibility of something extraordinary.

Avraham Avinu, just days after his bris milah, sat outside his tent in the blazing heat, yearning for guests. Hashem sent three angels disguised as simple travelers. In the merit of his longing to host them, he and Sarah were given the promise of a child — a promise that defied nature. The very first seed of Klal Yisrael was planted through an act of hachnassas orchim.

The widow of Tzarfas, with barely enough food for herself and her son, nevertheless chose to share her last portion with Eliyahu Hanavi. Later, when her son tragically died, Eliyahu davened and brought him back to life. Chazal reveal that this child was none other than Yonah Hanavi. Her open door — and open heart — became the source of resurrection.

The Ishah HaShunamis noticed Elisha frequently passing through her town and invited him into her home. She prepared a modest upper room for him — a small, quiet space to rest. In return, she was blessed with a child, after years of waiting. And when that child later passed away, Elisha prayed and revived him. Chazal identify this child as Chavakuk Hanavi. One simple act of hachnassas orchim led to two miracles: birth and resurrection.

What unites these stories? A guest walked through the door. And the Shechinah walked in with him.

Once we internalize the Zohar’s insight — that the Shechinah accompanies those in galus — we begin to see hachnassas orchim in a different light. It’s not merely a mitzvah. It’s a moment of Divine encounter.

In fact, Rav Chaim Kanievsky ztz”l would often recommend the mitzvah of hachnassas orchim as a segulah for couples hoping for children — rooted in these very stories.

And perhaps we can add one more point. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that the peak of our summer travels — our own personal galus — is divinely orchestrated to align with the Three Weeks, the national galus of Klal Yisrael. It’s as if Hashem is giving us a window into what it means to be unsettled, to feel the distance. So that by the time we reach the climax of this season — the days of mourning for the Churban — we can tap into its depth with greater clarity and appreciation. There’s spiritual potential in this timing, if we’re willing to lean into it.

So as you move through these summer weeks — shuttling between places, hosting relatives, or catching your breath as a guest in someone else’s home — remember this: Galus isn’t just a burden. It’s a Divine invitation. So wherever you are — on the road, or opening your door — you’re stepping into a moment of eternal meaning. Move through it with awareness.

Because you’re not just carrying a suitcase. You’re carrying the Shechinah. And you’re not just opening your home. You’re opening it to Hashem.

Rabbi Aryeh Kerzner is the rav of Agudas Yisrael of Montreal and a noted posek and popular speaker. Many of his shiurim and speeches are available online. He is the author of the sefer Halachah at Home, published by ArtScroll/Mesorah

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1073)